Friday, August 24, 2012

Usually a book begs to be written when several ideas clump together. Yes, I wanted to write a story about how the unexpected could be great (see earlier post), but also I'd been thinking a lot about the importance of story and imagination and the beautiful wildness and freedom of children's imaginations.

I thought about two conversations I'd overheard between my grandchildren and their parents (these are also reprinted in the preface to The Great Unexpected):

Father: Did you brush your teeth?

Son: Yes.

Father: Really?

Son: Yes.

Father: Tell me the truth.

Son: What is 'truth'?

-and -

Daughter: I'm going to be a dolphin.

Mother: Is that so?

Daughter: Yes. I will live in the ocean.

Mother: For real?

Daughter: What is 'real'?

I loved those conversations. I loved being reminded that 'truth' and 'reality' are learned labels. When we are young – or when we are writing a story – characters are as vivid as 'real' people. Reality and fantasy, past and present and future all dwell easily together.

I wanted to explore those blurred regions. Maybe I dance around the edges of these regions in many of my books (Fishing in the Air and Replay come first to mind here), but in The Great Unexpected, I took these notions up (or down?) one more level.

Sunday, August 19, 2012

In a school a few years ago, when I was introducing The Unfinished Angel, I asked the students to imagine discovering "something unexpected." I was going to refer to the character in that book who discovers an angel living in a tower.

But as soon as I said the word unexpected, the audience collectively shrank back in their seats. They looked fearful and anxious. That surprised and bothered me. When had the unexpected become something to be feared?

I thought about this for some time. I wanted to write a story in which the unexpected was something great, something that might alter someone's feelings about the unexpected. Perhaps, then, that person's whole view of the future might also be altered.

That was the central impetus for this newest book, The Great Unexpected:

I've had my own great and unexpected event: a call one cold, gray February day in 1995 when I was home alone in England, ready to throw a manuscript-in-progress out the window.

The phone rang. "Walk Two Moons has received the Newbery Medal."

"Cut it out, Tom," I said. (I thought it was my brother playing a joke.)

Shortly thereafter, my publisher phoned. I asked her how many of these medals were awarded each year? "500? 300? 100?"

There was a long pause while she, no doubt, considered my ignorance. At last, she said, "One, Sharon. One."

I can assure you that this was completely unexpected–and very, very great. . . and it took me a long, long while to believe that it was okay to accept this good fortune.

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“Maybe we’re here only to say: house, bridge, well, gate, jug, olive-tree, window--at most, pillar, tower--but to say them, remember, oh! to say them in a way that the things themselves never dreamed of so intensely.” --Rilke